


Of Folly, Insanity, and Wine

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:25:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Doriath, Maedhros despairs, Maglor drinks, and they talk of respect - or the lack of respect - for the dead, among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Folly, Insanity, and Wine

“Yes, Matimo?” Maedhros shook his head as he heard his brother’s mocking tone. Ignoring it, he opened the door and stepped in, throwing a glare at the bottles that dotted his brother’s floor. Laughing, Maglor threw his head back and spoke again, “Did you come here to once more lecture me on my habits brother? One would think that eventually, even such an…idealist… as you would realize that was folly.”

Maedhros mentally filled in the blanks suggested by the pause before the word idealist – idiotic, naïve, amusing (because Maglor thought it was so amusing how Maedhros had kept his nobility, even after the rest of the family had cast themselves as the villains in this twisted play for the Valar’s amusement). Then he sighed and focused on the first problem. “Where did you even find all of this, Makalaurë?”

“Come now, brother, surely you are not so old as to have fallen back on the manners of our childhood? We are the only ones here, other than a few servants. There is no reason for you to use such a formal name,” he said, taking a long sip from his glass, which was dangling between two of his fingers.

It was tempting to allow Maglor to side track him. There would be no need for any of these conversations, if he would just give into Maglor’s wish for good wine and conversation. But he couldn’t. “Where did you find all of this wine?” he leaned forward as he spoke, trying to intimidate his brother.

Maglor merely laughed once more, gesturing around him. “All of this? Oh, in Doriath, they make as good of wine as Artaresto always said. It’s almost a pity that it was destroyed.”

Maedhros sat down heavily, almost in shock. “You stole wine from a dead man? Makalaurë, why would you do that?”

He laughed again – Maedhros was almost ready to gag his brother to keep that taunting laughter from his ears. “What use is wine to a dead man? It’s not like I took it from somebody who would still have use for it brother. What is it to you?”

“The dead deserve our respect.” Maedhros began to argue, only for Maglor’s smile to return.

“The dead deserve our respect? Brother, they’re gone! We might never see them again, what does it matter?” The last words were spoken almost lazily, as Maglor sipped from his glass.

Maedhros stared in shock this time, unable to gather a response. By the time he did, Maglor had already moved on to a new bottle, offering a cup to Maedhros only to drink it himself when refused.

“If I were to die, or Ambarussa…” Maglor jerked his head up at that.

“Neither of you are going to die, Matimo. We’re better than everyone, it was mere bad luck that our brothers were killed in Doriath.” Maglor’s eyes had taken an almost possessed light. It reminded Maedhros far too closely of his father’s eyes when he had spoken to lead them all from Valinor. If his father had been fey and damned, his brother was as well.

“And Umbarto?” Maedhros stared, hoping he could wretch his brother out of this way of thinking. It had ruined his father.

“Brother, why do you bring up these things? It’s so tiring, so pointless. Nothing will happen. I won’t allow either of you to die.” With those words, he turned back to his wine glass, gazing into it as Maedhros left the room.

Switching to stare at something that only he could see, he continued, “It was mere folly that possessed Matimo, Atar. You have no reason to worry. Your sons are still far better than anyone else. There are three of us left, and only one of the others. She won’t survive longer on these shores than at least one of us, I promise.”

On the other side of the door, Maedhros knelt in despair.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize this isn't typical fanon Maglor. It's not even necessarily my normal Maglor. But I like the idea of gentle Maglor giving into his urges every so often, and I do think events could have made him bitter.


End file.
